


The Mask That You Wore, My Fingers Would Explore

by Eisenschrott



Series: The OT3 That Never Was [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, Family Issues, Multi, Non-Penetrative Sex, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-29 06:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14467101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott
Summary: The newly-reunited Veers family has a fight. Piett helps Eliana in his own way.





	The Mask That You Wore, My Fingers Would Explore

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924009) that nobody asked for.
> 
> Title from _Easy Ride_ by the Doors.

The best time to make a comm to Hosnian Prime, or wherever else in the Core the Veers lad was stationed, was in the dead of Imperial Standard Time night. Ergo, the dead of night cycle on the _Executor_.

Piett kept to himself a great many uncharitable remarks about that gloomy, nasty brat monopolizing his parents’ thoughts, emotions, and time. Veers and Eliana seemed already too tense and pensive in the dinner mess hall; Eliana even forgot to complain about the bland military food.

They ate quickly and left the mess hall together. Piett’s naval staff cracked some polite-by-Navy-standards jokes about the general’s wife and her recent resuscitation. Piett gave them a thin smile and quietly reminded the officers to be respectful. “After all, Mrs Veers will disembark as soon as it’s possible to arrange. You may not have enough time to woo her.”

The whole staff laughed and exchanged shoves, especially the men.

To himself, Piett hoped nobody spoke about this brand of naval humor to Veers.

Neither the general nor his wife joined him after dinner in his quarters. They hadn’t asked him to avoid comming them, but Piett assumed they’d want privacy to sort out their family affairs. He lay down in his bed with the nagging sensation that there was too much empty space on the mattress, too dead a silence in the night-lit room, too clean a laundry smell in the sheets. On the other hand, his metabolism appreciated a proper night cycle of rest.

He woke up five standard minutes before the chrono rang, and went to check the night watch log. No emergency stood out; if it had, the officer of the watch would have commed him right away. At last he noticed something that made him frown: a request—immediately granted—from General Veers to run a live-fire surprise drill of the Thundering Herd’s infantry. Sixteen stormtroopers injured, one dead. The exercise was still ongoing.

Far be it from Piett to question Iron Max’s training methods, given that the general knew the fine art of ground-pounding better than the admiral did. If it was a _venting_ method, however, that didn’t bode well.

As he began peeling off his nightclothes, Piett ordered the comm terminal to enter the Veers’ comlink code. Not reachable. He could get to him through some lesser officer of the Herd’s staff; instead, he chose to shave and take a quick sonic shower—much quicker than when he had to wash dried up spunk and stale sweat from his skin. While he donned the layers of his uniform, he tried the comlink that had been temporarily allocated to Eliana Veers.

It rang for a dozen seconds. Piett was about to shut it off and leave when the last beep was cut off. First, an indistinct rumbling noise. Then, “Max?”

Piett grit his teeth as a spike of jealousy and resentment stabbed his empty stomach. He bent over the comm terminal. “As far as I know, he is overseeing a troops exercise. Good morning, missy.”

Another indistinct noise, sounding more like a sniffle. “Admiral.” Silence. Sniffle again.

Piett held back a groan. “Has something happened?”

Silence. Sounds of breathing. Silence. “We spoke to our son. Last night. Night cycle. Whatever.”

“I take it that didn’t go well?”

Louder sniffle. When she spoke again her voice had a broken, weepy pitch. “We had an argument. A really bad fight—I can’t believe _that_ was my son… And Max shouted back at him so much I just… I lost my mind too. Max stormed off and I haven’t seen him since. I cried myself to sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” His stomach grumbled, and so did his craving for nicotine and caffeine. He reached for the cigs in his pocket, lit one, and considered inviting Eliana to the breakfast mess hall; he considered also that a good eighty percent of the officers present would attempt to comfort the sad lady. Nobody needed Veers to get in any more of a murderous a mood than he already must be. So, no mess hall. He breathed in the first drag of smoke. “Are you in the general’s quarters?”

“Yes.”

“I have some time to spare before my watch starts.” He eyed his chrono: it wasn’t much time. And he needed a part of it for breakfast. “If you’d like, I can—”

“Please, come here.” Transmission-muffled sobs were followed by a loud noise, perhaps her blowing her nose.

“Alright,” Piett said as he rolled his eyes. _Max, you’ll pay for making me do this_. He shut the comm, and finished the cigarette too fast and angrily to enjoy it. Just before leaving his quarters, his eyes fell on the Nutrimatic; he brewed himself his usual strong and triple-sugared caf, thought about it for a moment, and had the machine make what the beverage selection menu claimed was Tarine tea. He went out balancing the smaller caf cup atop the lid of the tea one.

The door to Veers’ quarters obediently slid open as he inserted his code cylinder in the lock.

Eliana stared up at him from the bed she sat on as he stepped in and towards her, the door shutting behind him. Her eyes were swollen; reddened, too, he saw once he was nearer.

“I brought you tea,” he said.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded more normal than during the comm. She took the proffered cup, peeled off the lid and sniffed at the steaming liquid inside. “Did Max tell you I like Tarine tea?”

“Once. A while ago.” He eyed the side of the bed.

She didn’t seem to notice, and didn’t ask him to have a seat. Self-centered bitch. “Excuse me,” Piett said in a quiet, polite tone, and sat down at the bottom corner of the bed, an arm’s length away from her.

He took a sip of his caf. Then another. She wouldn’t start the conversation. “I don’t have the whole day cycle,” he said, perhaps harsher than he meant. “If you wish to get something off your chest, you should do it now.”

Her shoulders hunched and sagged as she made a deep sigh. Her breath blew curls of steam off the teacup. “That man is not my son. I… I know he is, rationally, and _he_ remembers me almost too well. But he way he looked at me… it was scary.” She clasped both hands over the cup. “He said terrible things to Max. And Max to him. Max hadn’t told me that he sent Zev to the academy without Zev’s consent.”

“As far as I know, he had reasons for that course of action. And I trust General Veers’ ability to make hard choices for solid reasons.” He canted his head to meet and withstand her glare. The teacup was just a few centimeters below her pursed lips.

Pouty wee lass, he thought. To keep himself from laughing in her face as she tried to look intimidating— _does she even realize I interact with Lord Vader on a near-daily basis?_ —Piett drank up the rest of his caf.

“Do you have children, Admiral?”

“Not as far as I know, fortunately.” He smirked. “Let me guess: you are about to say that makes me incapable of understanding the feelings, pains and responsibilities of a parent.”

She pouted in silence for a few seconds. “Max shouldn’t have done that.”

“So you’re siding with—” he stopped himself before saying _the boy_ , “Lieutenant Veers?”

Her expression wavered, mellowed. Her bloodshot blue eyes gazed down at the tea, now steaming considerably less.

“You told Max he should have left the Army and stayed with the boy.” This phraseology was correct here. “Didn’t you?”

She gave a slow nod, without looking up at him. “It was a bit stronger than just telling him,” she muttered.

 _Oh for Boonta’s sake…_ “Well, this explains why he got angry.”

“Have you talked to him?” She sounded a little bit fearful.

As monstrously unjust to Veers as that was, Piett’s memory flashed back to conversations with the Urban Watch folks at the Rikuba City garrison, the chaps who told stories about how they saved in the nick of time a spouse being beaten up by their hopping mad, spice-sniffing partner who had, for good measure, beaten up a few stormtroopers too.

“No,” he said. “He’s working off his bad mood as we speak.”

She made a disgruntled noise and sipped onto the teacup. “At least he gets to do that. I can’t even move around freely.”

“You have to understand, missy. This is a military installation—”

“Yeah, okay, I understand, no dumb civilians on the loose aboard the pride of the Imperial Navy, _okay_ ,” she raised her voice, and lowered it again as Piett didn’t talk back. “Goddesses, if only we’d managed to make love last night. Maybe that would’ve taken some edge off of us.”

For a Coreworlder housewife, the missy sure was outspoken. He imagined introducing her to Lord Vader, and gave his own skin the creeps under his uniform.

“Beg your pardon?” he asked. “Do you mean, you tried and… did not succeed?”

“ _Max_ did not succeed.”

Piett gaped at her as she drank the tea in small, noisy sips, her eyes closed and eyebrows knitted.

“He…” Piett said. “He has never had any problem of that sort with me.”

“Your bragging doesn’t help.”

“I wasn’t bragging. Just… noticing he must have been very distraught.”

“It was not for lack of trying on my part. I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that it was most unfair to leave a gorgeous lady frustrated in her wants.” He crumpled the caf cup and went to consign it to the garbage chute in the wall, by the work desk with the holoterminal and the few items Veers had left arranged on it: a flimsipaper notepad and a stylus, a tube of vitamin pills, one of backache meds. The fist-shaped dent on the desk’s surface was a new addition, Piett suspected, from the previous night.

He glanced at the time on the holoterminal chrono, let out a quiet sigh and made a mental note to have Veers buy him the most luxurious and sugar-rich breakfast available, next time they went on shore leave somewhere civilized.

He turned to face her and the bed, pulling his gloves halfway off. “May I help you to a rush of endorphins, ma’am?”

Eliana’s eyes widened. Then she blinked the surprise away into a wry smile. “Well, why not. It serves my husband right.” She finished up her tea in one gulp, screwed the cup into a ball and threw it in a neat arc across the room; it landed straight into the mouth of the garbage chute, with just enough impact energy to knock the lid open.

_Who’s bragging now?_

Piett removed his gloves and placed them on the desk, then his cap and the rolled up belt. He and Eliana cast each other glances as they undressed. The instant her tits bounced free of the plain shirt and sport bra she was wearing, his sex twinged in his pants. Stripped to his underwear and socks, he excused himself to the ‘fresher for a moment.

As quick and thorough as cargo hold inspections had taught him to do on Axxila, he went through the few shelves and cabinets twice, and cursed under his breath. All he could do was wash his hands.

“Bad news, missy,” he said as he returned to the main room, and stopped dead in his tracks: Eliana was lying starkers on Veers’ bed, her clothes a lump of steel-gray army-issue sportswear and white panties on the floor. Her breasts still bore dark bruises from the rough handling Veers had given them; her legs were spread open and her right hand rubbed circles over her sex.

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him in the eye.

A white-hot jolt ran over him, accelerated his heartbeat and strung his erection further up. He pictured himself mounting her, thrusting in with his cock bare, shooting his seed into the depths of her womb, impregnating—he shook his head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“What bad news?” asked Eliana. Far too self-aware for someone touching herself.

“I—your husband doesn’t keep condoms in here. Let alone ladies’ contraceptives.” He crawled on the bed, on all fours above her. “That rules the Bendu monk position out.”

“Frag if I care.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Can you… do it again with your mouth? Like the other time?”

“I figured you may wish for something more intense.” He lay down at her side, resting his chin on the meat of his left hand. “Please allow me.” His right hand gently pried hers away, and palmed her slit.

She flinched, then threw her head back and let her mouth hang half-open, purring softly as Piett’s touch burrowed deeper.

Stars, he’d forgotten how wet Human women could be. But there was plenty of slick space to move his fingers in. He started rubbing faster up and down, then in circles.

She sagged with her head and shoulders on the pillow, panting louder and louder, her tongue lolling out of her lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” Piett rumbled. He stuck two fingers deep inside her and swirled them a couple times. She moaned. He pulled out and thumbed her clit, making her thighs quiver, until the pleasure tore a scream out of her mouth. That, in turn, made his erection twitch against her hipbone. The front of his boxers was starting to feel wet.

“I have never—” She moaned again as he plunged his thumb in her cunt and teased the skin around her asshole with the other fingers. Her hands grabbed onto the coverlet, wringing it out of place.

“Never touched yourself like this? I’m honored to be your first again.” He tilted his head and kissed her neck.

“I was never good at it. When Max was far away— _ah_!”

“Good stars. You waited without any release until his next homecoming?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Don’t stop...”

His fingers were back in her opening, groping until they found that rough-textured little spot that made her buck her pelvis, tighten around him for the duration of a spasm, rub herself onto his hand, and make mewling sounds that filled his mouth with drool and his cock with hot blood.

Eliana’s arms shot up around his shoulders, pulling him down where her lips locked onto his. Her tongue swept into his mouth, trying hopelessly to match the pace and strength his hand down in her cunt was keeping up.

She soon ran out of breath and fell back on the pillow, a thread of drool hanging for a few moments between her panting mouth and his. He let himself shiver into her embrace, her nails digging fiery notches into his skin. Sweat was pooling under his armpits, and his cock quite literally pushing for freedom. Time to bring this battle to its turning point.

He hooked the tips of his middle and index finger to her sweet spot, and pressed his palm to her clit, besieging both mercilessly, licking his lips at the shudders of her hips and her pain-edged moans of _yes, good_. At last she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her body stiffened, the muscles constricted around his hand, and she came with a half-choked cry, biting onto his shirt.

Good missy, she’d understood the importance of discretion.

He gently slid his trembling, soaked-sticky hand out of her, and helped her lie back down.

“Missy?”

Eliana just breathed, hard and fast at first, then slower, with her eyes closed.

Pretty sight, but he was in a hurry. “Missy!” As she remained unresponsive, Piett brought his hand back down and gave her ravaged cunt a slap.

She yelped awake. “What in blazes—!”

“I need some assistance, too, in case you didn’t notice.” He pulled himself up to his knees on the mattress, the movement slower and more awkward than he would’ve liked; his rational mind slid in a bitter thought about old age and a weakening body, before retreating once again to watch the animal show.

He pulled his boxers down with his clean hand, grunting in relief as his cock bobbed out of the damp fabric. “Would you mind…” Stars, what could be a gentlemanly way to word it? “…using your mouth on me?”

She stared at him with wide, lothcat-in-speeder-headlights eyes. “I have never… done… _this_.”

Piett was fairly confident their facial expressions matched. “Never?”

Eliana shook her head.

“But… how? Your husband has a—”

“No, never. Got it?”

“All right, fine.” He grudgingly pumped his shaft, the remaining wetness on his palm easing the friction a bit. “How do you feel about taking it in the arse—in the rear again?”

“I’d rather not,” she said, quick and definitive and not inviting insistence.

He was about to give up and let her perform what promised to be an exasperatingly amateurish handjob, when his eyes fell on her bruised tits. His hormone-loaded brain connected the dots, and a grin spread on his face. “Don’t move.” He wriggled out of his boxers and sat across Eliana’s stomach, facing her so as to fit his cock in the cleft between her breasts.

She stared at the bell-end pointed towards her face, gingerly felt up the slit where it was damp with pre-cum. Piett shook at the touch and bit his lower lip. “Is… is this acceptable, missy?” _Please say yes. Please say yes, schutta_.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He started rolling his hips hard, grabbed her tits making her growl in pain, and mashed them over his cock. Blessed, warm flesh enfolded his sensitive shaft. He thrust into it, over and over, his arse making a wet slapping noise against her skin.

Eliana winced and made soft whines, but didn’t tell him to stop, bruise pain notwithstanding. The missy was tougher than Veers credited her for. She was observant, too. Watched the cockhead pop in and out of her cleavage through foggy but fixed eyes. A little smile even ghosted on her face. Her hands stroked his thighs.

“Haven’t done this in seventeen standard years,” Piett rasped, for no reason in particular.

“Haven’t you?” She grimaced. He moved his left hand away to a less bruised part of her tit, and she went on, “Well, you sure can’t do this with my husband.”

That last time had been with a Kiffar lady. He remembered her all right—Boonta’s hundred curses befall on him if he ever forgot—but the memory couldn’t match the flesh he was touching and losing himself into now. Aet’naa had bigger, firmer tits, and smelled of perfume like the professional she was. Eliana just smelled of sweat and whatever pheromones were in an average Human woman.

“Don’t look away,” he breathed.

So she did, and he watched her watch him. His shaft throbbed harder and harder.

Then they both turned as the door hissed open.

Their eyes met those, instantly widening, of General Veers standing frozen in mid-step on the threshold, still wearing a blast-scorched cuirass. He leapt inside and slammed his palm on the lock, closing the door.

Piett’s rhythm slowed to almost a halt, his swollen shaft twitching in protest. Veers stared but neither spoke nor moved.

“Aye, I’ve missed this,” Piett said. Kriff, it wouldn’t be the first time he had to salvage a battle plan gone awry; just think of Hoth, after Ozzel had jumped out of hyperspace too soon. “But you—you missed out on polishing your husband’s blaster.”

Her eyes darted between Piett and Veers; her cheeks reddened.

“He’s so big. You’ve got to be careful not to choke. And—and when he comes, he comes _a lot_. Like drinking down a bottle of Corellian port—”

“Cut the chatter, sailor,” Veers said in his general’s voice.

Piett shot him an unfocused look through the sweat on his brow and the arousal’s fog of war. Veers sat at the desk, his back to the bed, hands undoing the shoulder straps of his cuirass. “And please hurry up,” Veers went on. “I’d like to sleep on that bed for a few hours.”

So much for salvaging the battle plan. Piett rolled his eyes, shut them tight, and began pounding in earnest again. Climax washed over him sooner than he expected; he nearly flopped forward in a trembling mess on Eliana’s face.

Her heart pulsed tangibly under his softening, spent member. Drops and rivulets of spunk had poured on her sternum, her neck, the unkempt ginger waves of her hair.

His eyes met Eliana’s. She tore her blushing face away, towards the wall.

“Excuse me,” he whispered, and crossed his right leg above Eliana’s lower body. His elderly man’s knees had grown stiff in the prolonged bent position; sitting up on the bedside left him teary-eyed, massaging joint pains away.

Veers’ boots and cuirass lay next to the empty chair. The general returned from the one wardrobe in the room, stripped to his pants and shirt, carrying his dirty uniform with one arm and a change of underwear with the other. There was an unmistakable bulge in the front of his pants, but he went straight to the ‘fresher.

Piett rose and hobbled after him.

Veers didn’t protest. Didn’t acknowledge his presence at all, in fact; he laid the clean clothes aside and stuffed the filthy ones in the laundry disposal unit.

Piett gathered a breath, but couldn’t speak. Blasting kriff. Had he made this poodoo-show worse? He turned, feeling as dizzy as if the sugar and caffeine had been drained out of his body, and began washing his hands and face in the sink. He stole glances of Veers in the mirror; the general had stepped into the sonic shower.

“She wants me to leave the army,” Veers said, loud and clear over the whirr of the shower. Eerie neutral tone.

Piett stared down at his hands under the water jet. “To stay with your son after she—I know.”

“No. Now. She wants me to leave the army _now_.”

Space-like chill assailed Piett’s back, where his undershirt had soaked up sweat. He turned off the water, grabbed the towel and rubbed it over his shoulder blades.

“And if I stay, she’s leaving me. That’s what she told me last night. An ultimatum worthy of the most blood-thirsty Rebel terrorist, don’t you agree?”

Gripping the towel as tight as his fists could clench, Piett looked up at Veers in the mirror again.

Veers had a sardonic, mirthless smile on his face. “She didn’t tell you, I suppose?”

Piett whipped the towel off his shoulders, wiped his face and hands dry, and hung it back on the rack. “I expect a report on your infantry drill by 9:00.” He escaped the ‘fresher before Veers could say ‘yessir’.

Eliana had put her shirt and panties back on. She was pulling the filthy coverlet off the bed, and still avoiding Piett’s gaze.

He began dressing up again, the simple, mechanical motions calming him a bit. “Did you hear?” he asked when only his gloves and caps were left to wear.

She froze. Slowly, she turned around and sat on the mattress, the folded coverlet on her lap. “Everything.”

“Is it true?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Piett forced himself to take slow, controlled breaths, until he could swallow the lump that threatened to burst out of his throat into every single offensive word he knew, in the three languages he was fluent in. “That will be his decision to make.” He donned the cap. “Good day and glory to the Empire, missy.”

Without another look at Eliana, he exited the general’s quarters and stomped off down the empty corridor towards the bridge, bile and dark caf stirring in his stomach.


End file.
